


Russian Roulette

by DartSohoLord



Category: BBC Sherlock, Freebatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Freebatch - Freeform, M/M, RPS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9522677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DartSohoLord/pseuds/DartSohoLord
Summary: When you are drowning in secrets, had a bit of a drink and want to share your story with the rest of the world because no one would believe you anyway.Charming Mister Martin Freeman telling a tale of two men caught in the storm of the public eye, floating on waves of secrecy, drowning in love.





	1. Chance

**Author's Note:**

> It is what it is. I know I will scribble it down in a dark liquor haze cause I'm a cock and might regret it but I guess regrets are for rainy mornings and words will flow until then...scrambled and slurred like a fine wine.

The story of two men.

_Two extraordinary men against the rest of the world. And there’s always a push and pull like waves rolling onto the beach and back. ‘s Not always waves. Storms…over London. Doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes._

It was brilliant.

An introduction of Mark to the series he would read for.

Sometimes you take on roles, you read scripts and you suspect it might actually be something good, you know. But then Sherlock, BBC Sherlock, that was it.

The one script he knew would change his life. He was still the fucking Hobbit and all that. And it’s a franchise, one he is very lucky to have fallen into, one he is very grateful of, mind you.

But Sherlock would change his life. Had changed his life. That first reading was shit. No matter what story he fibbed, he was in a dark mood. Something he probably would never talk about, unless in private, and even still to a select few.

Just one of those days of self loathing, of doubt, of absolute not giving a fuck. He bodged that one. Regretted it. Called his agent, begged for a second chance and all that. Had a go, Ben came in, read with him and those bastards knew exactly what they were doing. The chemistry was instant. Bloody awful for two men having met over just an hour. But it was there and he knew that was a rare thing. No matter what would happen from that day on, he would give it his all.

But even though he saw himself as an actor, a trader in arts, he hated the acting world.

He hated the crazies, the snubs, the paps, the lions, the leeches around him. Fans. Those fans. He wasn't theirs to keep, or to have, or to Internet about. A subject to love, to crave. He...hated...it all.

The thing with being an actor is that it comes in waves, really. Sometimes it’s calm, refreshing and it makes you happy. But then there are times it just swallows you up, drowns you in lies and fake smiles in those never-ending bright flashes and screaming people.

Endless high-pitched screams and demands, hopeful faces, reaching hands sliding over his arm and back. To have this touch. A hold-on. And it’s in those moments he needs to shut up. Pretend.

Mark’s always told him he must love Russian Roulette. And it had made him smile. Cause maybe he did; the famous one-liner, the harsh quote, the fucking with the fans and the media. He wasn’t holding the gun…they were. But he had control over the bullet and that’s what he liked. The choked groans, the polite cough from his assistant whenever he told the world a little bit more then he should have.

Flipping them the bird? Sure. They LOVE it. They spoon it up and thank him.

Piss off.

It was just a controlled bullet in said Russian Roulette. Because the world would always love him no matter what.

There is one thing he had that could potentially be the biting bullet. The one wound he could not recover from. The one game of Russian Roulette he would lose. And it would destroy him.

The one.

The only one who understood what it was like. To be swallowed up into a crowd. To lose yourself in a downfall of emotions so strong it brings you to your knees.

To be worshipped like a god. To never again have a life of your own. Unwillingly selling your freedom. Because they always want something from you.

He was the one.

Ben.

The one bullet he desperately hid. His secret.

A secret to the rest of the world…or something not to be mentioned by his friends. He didn’t have a lot of friends. People he knew, people he liked. Yes. Best friends? Not so much.

There was Amanda, course…he loved her, still does and always will. He treasured the understanding they shared. An understanding most could only dream of. She was the mother of his children and she will always be there for him no matter what.

And he will always be there for her. She created a home, that gorgeous bubbly woman that always made him smile and took bloody good care of their kids.

But she was not the only one that gave him a home.

 

It was brilliant and yet so fucked up. If he would tell his tale...no one would believe him. And maybe that was for the best because that one bullet is someone they could never have.

 

He- they made a promise; never tell a soul for as long as they can. But how he secretly wished he could show this love. Because fuck it all. Sod it.

He wanted to scream to the world and tell them to take their prejudice and cram it up their collective arses. Shaft it.

Oh, if only.

The press would pay thousands and thousands for the scandal. Paps would stalk their every move and take away any bit of freedom they had left. Hollywood would spit them out. Some fans would understand. He even believed the hard-core Freebatchers would probably support them the most.

Freebatch.

What a ridiculous name for something so complicated yet so perfect.

If anyone would ask him he would tell them he was the most imperfect human being. A horrible partner but who stood for his values. He wasn’t an idiot. He read Twitter…Tumblr…Celebitchy and whatnot. If only to check on how they were being perceived. Were they onto them or not? Some are somewhat close but not quite. And it made him devilishly laugh that the Nanny’s, or whatever they are called, protected their lie. Dear sweet beautiful marriage. Dear sweet Queen Sophie.

It was a laughing stock. A play. A human spectacle. But oh what a play and people clapped and they cheered, it was a standing ovation for all to see. But they were none the wiser.


	2. Of Meeting

A fucking play. The best acting role he will ever have in his life and he's quite brilliant at it.

People'd be surprised how many well-known men in Hollywood face the same daily task.

Hide in plain sight. Wrap the truth in lies. If you want to hide a stone in the forest, make it look like a leaf.

Only theirs was more like a jungle, lots of loud monkeys. Big fucking stone.

If anyone would ask him to tell the truth he would not know where to begin.

Dear sweet Ben. People had found him charming…a dork. Oh how that had changed. How his Ben had made the world crawl for him…write about him…cheer him on and spit him out. And they loved it.

They loved the marriage. Tiny Cumberbatch, charming daddy, baby on the way, happy family and all that. Right.

Funny. If only those skeptics knew how right they were.

It’s a prison. People don’t seem to realize. Even those who hope. Those who think they see…something.

Ben once told him, the greatest prison people live in, is the fear of what other people think.

They lived it.

It seemed like ages ago….

It wasn’t their first meeting. Agreed there was something there. A spark, a chemistry…whatever the fuck people called it.

Amanda noticed it before he even acknowledged it. He knew of course…he wasn’t a 16 year old ignoring a fling.

It was Amanda all over again. Not more or less. But a love meant for a soulmate. Someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.

He had ignored said infatuation during their shooting of season one. A huge part of season two as well. 

The most prominent person to push them in the right direction was Olivia. Such a darling, such an amazing woman. He liked her, he still does.

Olivia would never force Ben into anything, she disliked arguments but she also didn't want to see him unhappy. She had told him - after - how hard it had been to have that talk with Ben.

Their relationship was more akin to a brother and sister relationship, two people that loved each other dearly but they weren't in love anymore. She had wanted to see Ben happy again.

Ben was straight, he wasn't gay. Bi-romantic but not bi-sexual. Or that's what he kept telling himself. 

Olivia pushed Ben into a confession he probably never would've wanted to admit out loud.

A few years ago he had said in an interview “-aren’t we all a bit bi? Don’t label me-” and he had regretted that statement. Well not _really_. He doesn't give a shit. It was true for him anyway but it was a seed planted into Ben's mind.

Ben started questioning himself. Who he was, who he was to the people around him. It took him 7 months to understand what Olivia had told him. Why she had left him. There was love between them but furthermore an understanding.

She had been the first one to tell Ben that it really was okay and that he needed to accept the fact that he was most likely bi-romantic but gay.

The press never really questioned it. _Separated but remained best friends_. Olivia disappeared from the media but remained by his side for many years. She was the only one that knew, had forgiven him for apparently falling in love with his co-star.

Ben had been angry. Confused, hurt and angry. You don't choose to be gay. It's not like going shopping and picking whatever you like because it suits you. It's who you are, it's your heart. 

Ben feared people would hate him. Spit him out. Surely he wouldn't stand a chance in the US; the Academy Awards run by very conservative old men. His career would be dead and over. Ben was just starting and it would all crumble down.

And he was stuck in the middle of it. Together with Amanda, two kids no less. Long standing relationship. Rock solid.

There was another person starting to suspect.

Andrew had known. Like many he’d seen him and Ben and put two and two together. Ben wasn't as straight as people thought. He saw through that.

Andrew marvelously came out as gay. Brave. And it was fine. Ben didn’t take the hint.

During shooting the previous series, the crew would playfully hint and tease both of them, especially Mark, as he and Ben were just having a go with it.

Series three came around and they were falling for each other. All smiles and warmth between them on set. Anyone could see there was something special going on.

No one said anything. The teasing stopped because they all realized it was so much more.

Sherlock and John…they had done it again. Put two people together for life.

It was actually really nice. He will always be very fond of that period. It had made him very happy.

People saw of course and so did he. Let's be honest, he's such a flirt and Ben was always so glad to be on the receiving end of his teasing.

And that's how it started. Teasing, flirting turned into looking at the other person and realizing you can't imagine yourself living a day without them. Wanting to be near them, feel them.

It was there in every smile...in every touch. And it wasn't just him. Ben's not as innocent as people make him out to be. Gullible, yes. Sweet, very much so but a fucking tease.

Ben would pick his moments, staring just a tad too long at his lips and his crotch. His eyes would follow his every movement, checking him out. And Ben made sure he noticed. Cock.

It was always fleeting though. A moment of chemistry, testing the waters. 

Yet, sometimes, they both pushed that limit. That fine line drawn between friends. Mostly after midnight, when they finished a particular action packed scene.

They would always find themselves being drawn to Ben's trailer drinking bourbon to wind down. 

One particular warm night was burned into his mind. As had the bourbon burned its way down his throat. Adoring smiles and slurred words.

_"This bourbon 's fucking brilliant but that scarf 's awful, Ben."_

_"'Oi, feelings mate. 'He wasn't impressed at my tight blue dress, but he held my face to the sky as he filled my mind with thoughts'. You."_

_"Wot does that even mean?"_

_"Theresa Tayler. Jus somethin' someone said, Mart."_

_"Course. So wot you're sayin' is; I fill your mind with thoughts or hold your face to the sky?"_

_"Nah. You- weren't impressed."_

_"You cock. I'll impress you inna minute."_

_"Careful wot you wish for."_

_"Don't play with fire, da'ling. You may not be able to douse it when it becomes all consuming."_

_"Ooh cheesy- I got my fires under control, thank you very much."_

_"Don't care- do you?"_

_"Have some more bourbon, Sweetheart. Let it consume you."_

_"To tempt temptation?"_

_"Are you?"_

_"I might, Love."_


	3. Your Perfect Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It requires wisdom to understand wisdom: the music is nothing if the audience is deaf.
> 
> But sometimes that's a blessing. To be able to hide in a crowd.
> 
> I made a promise to someone, to get this out of my system.
> 
> So here's a toast to running; away from something or to someone. Just running.

What most people don't seem to realize is that this fast paced life, pressured by power-mongers and social media, creates the worst enemy.

Yourself.

I against I. Mind against mind.

Millions pass us by, day by day, in this factory mill that we are thrown in. In search to bring meaning into our life. The meaning of being and why. Our own wonders, our own failures.

His darkest nightmares, his worst fears, the ones no one knows about. Some call him an angry little man. Difficult. If only they knew what plagued him. We all carry a past.

Amanda knew, she avoided talking about it. She believes what's in the past is in the past.

He believes the past is a part of you. Don't let it mold you, don't live in the past but accept that it made you...a part of you.

Wise words, given to him by Ben. Because he saw through his bravado, the jokes he keeps as a wall to protect himself and to keep people out.

Ben figured it out after a drunk night of truth and dare. Nothing incriminating...it was a nice night.

He had fallen asleep on Ben's sofa and had been woken up by his friend's hand caressing his face, whispering sweet nothings. A look of shock on his handsome face, quickly replaced by concern. Fucking nightmares.

He had felt confused, his breathing heavy, sweating, legs tangled in the blanket Ben must've tucked him in with. He had stared at Ben wide-eyed, desperately trying to get his breathing under control. Fighting the urge to slap Ben's warm hand away and get up, go back home. But for the first time in his life, someone didn't run away from his darker self. Amanda would...every time. She got tired of him pushing her away during his dark moments. And he couldn't blame her. Who would want to fucking deal with his fucked up mind?

Ben had crawled over him, maneuvered his shaking body against his own and he had hid his face against Ben's chest. He didn't dare hug him, touch him or say anything. But then Ben spoke words he would never forget.

_"I know, Martin. Your darkest nightmares, your worst fears, the anger inside of you-. I know.... Even when the voices are screaming around you and you numb it all away with alcohol to lighten the frightening thoughts that plague your beautiful mind...I understand. I accept them."_

Ben's voice had rumbled though him, making him shiver even more, wanting to crawl into his friends' body. And of course Ben felt it, he always did. Ben's arms had wrapped around him, holding him in place to stop the shaking, a hand softly pressing against his neck. 

_"I-. You need love to shelter you, Martin, and you keep pushing that away. And I am just like that. I won't allow anyone to be close except for the one I see fit. The one who understands, who accepts us for who we really are. That..we sometimes have a yearning to be free and flee but..we always come back. I flee in social gatherings to save me from myself and I see you..smiling when you are alone. When you think we can't see you. I know that smile. It stares at us in a mirror...a smile we learned to fear."_

He had held his breath throughout Ben's carefully chosen words and in that moment he had never felt so connected to someone. How had they not talked to each other like that?

That night had been the day before the BFI screening of The Empty Hearse. It seemed important somehow. And he had found himself unable to say anything to comfort Ben so he had reached up and snaked his arms around his friend. His hands following a path of ribs, muscles, shoulder blades, ending in dark curls as he had tentatively pressed his lips against Ben's warm neck. He had felt Ben's pulse quicken against his lips, like a trapped bird fluttering in a locked cage. Wild, daring and yet so innocent.

_"You can't give into it, Martin. You can't keep pushing people away. You laugh your darkness into light and yet I know what nourishes you also destroys you. Let me help you. In any way you want me, love."_

He remembered tasting his own salty tear against Ben's warm skin. Words were swirling in his head but it was all foggy. He hated losing control. Work, emotions, relationships...himself. Arms and hands stilled, the only sounds echoing in their silence was their heavy breathing. Hearts beating so fast, he swallowed hard. How do you explain love to someone who lives in self loathing? 

By telling them you accept the darkest part of what makes them human. By telling them you will help them in a any way you....

_In any way you want me._

He couldn't. Oh, god, he couldn't. He remembered slowly leaning away from Ben, placing a hand on his friend's chest.

Building up the courage to look him in the eyes.  _"I am the worst person, the most imperfect human being. What you are offering...I may want to-"_

There was not an easy way out and he realized, then and there, he needed Ben. 

Wanted him.

_In any way you want me, love._

The bullet in his Russian Roulette.

He had closed his eyes, had to look away. Coward. A fucking coward. This had been building for a very long time. Thinking back to those moments during their years as best friends, moments of leaning against each other. Of Ben staring at him with tears in his eyes. Of hugs between friends with hearts beating so fast the other could feel it. Of brushes of lips against cheeks and lingering. Fingers caressing, holding on.

It was so much more than people ever saw. 

Private intimate moments like that. They were rare but he had felt that night, something had changed. It was so desperately unspoken but it had always been there.

And yet in that moment he couldn't cross that line.

_In any way you want me, love._

Ben was leaving a way out but it was clear to him how his friend adored him, loved him even but he would understand. For now.

So that particular night, he never finished that sentence and bless dear sweet Ben, he hadn't pushed. Hadn't asked for anything, or him, for that matter. No blaming, no anger just acceptance and understanding.

Ben had gotten up off the sofa, pressed a kiss on top of his head and went into the kitchen to grab them some water. They shared the bottle.

They shared the blanket and the rest of the night, talking about anything and everything. No walls, no emotional barriers. Just two broken and lost people who refused to break or to bend but needed each other to keep going.

Laughter turned into giggling and it had made him realize just how lucky he was to have this man in his life. This wonderful person comfortably pressed against him, firing away stories and philosophical theories just to keep the nightmares away. And it made him realize that maybe, just maybe, Ben wasn't doing all this for his sake alone. They kept each other sane. And happy. After all those years.

Ben had struggled to keep awake, his head dropping to his shoulder and just as Ben wanted to jerk back and mutter a whispered amused  _sorry_ , he had smiled and reached out to gently guide Ben's head back to his shoulder. Placing his own head on top of Ben's. He remembered smelling Ben's lemon shampoo, feeling Ben's content sigh against his neck, the fabric of Ben's soft shirt as his fingers has ghosted over the arm trapped between their bodies. The deep rise and fall of Ben's chest against his side, a large warm hand curling around his wrist, long fingers tentatively tracing unknown patterns on his thigh until he felt Ben's full weight sag against him and his deep breathing telling him the younger man had fallen asleep.

He knew that night, there had been no nightmares. He remembered falling asleep peacefully, thinking about what to wear for the BFI screening and the man sleeping next to him. But one thing he knew for certain.

He loved Ben. Was in love with him.

And people started to notice and that became a problem.

 


End file.
